


Story, Wyoming

by theearlymorningmist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: +10K word count, 10k words, Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Caladrius - Freeform, Case Fic, Concerned Sam Winchester, Curses, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Depressed Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hopeful Dean Winchester, Hopeful Ending, Hopeful Sam Winchester, Hunt, Hunting, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Minor Garth Fitzgerald IV/Bess Myers, Protective Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Season/Series 10, Supernatural Case Fic, Traveling Cross Country, Winchester Family Angst (Supernatural), Witches, girl of the week fic, hexbags, montana, set between 10x13 and 10x14, supernatural season 10, torture- minor / non graphic, wyoming - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theearlymorningmist/pseuds/theearlymorningmist
Summary: A quick stop in Story, Wyoming as a favour for an old friend quickly turns deadly as Sam and Dean stumble into a trap which inadvertently sets into motion an ancient witch's plot for revenge and power. Can Sam and Dean save a young girl while being hunted down themselves?A case fic set during Season 10.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Garth Fitzgerald IV, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. Story, Wyoming

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo- I started reading the Supernatural book series because quarantine has me bored af, and it inspired me to write a case fic set during season 10. Minor changes have been made to the lore, but for the most part I tried to make it as plot accurate and SPN-Factually correct as possible. There are 11 chapters total (all pre-written already)- the first 2 will be posted together, then a new chapter every other day! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ~ This fic is dedicated to my darling Bunny, who hyped me up the entire time I was writing this and has always been willing to edit my insane scribbling <3 ~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean get a call from an old friend asking them to head to the small town of Story, Wyoming...

Dean burst through the ratty screen door of the old lake house, not caring if or what he broke. All that mattered was getting Sammy inside and safe. “Help in here!” The man shouted, his deep voice rough with fear and anger. He needed to make sure Sam was okay, that was priority one. He didn’t have time to focus on anything else. Like the warm blood dripping from Sam’s neck with terrifying speed, and staining Dean’s shirt…that was one of these things he couldn’t focus on right now.

Resting his brother against the counter, Dean rushed back to the doorway, where the screen door was in fact hanging half off the hinges. He ripped the thing off with a frustrated growl, tossing it outside, so he could properly shut and barricade the heavy oak door behind it.

Hearing the commotion, Bridget came rushing into the living room, shot gun gripped in her hand. “What’s going on!?” She screamed. Seeing Sam attempting to apply pressure to his wound, eyes glassy and uncertain, she dropped the gun. Moving quickly, with practiced ease, Bridget replaced his hands with her own steady ones, attempting to stay the flow.

“HELP HIM.” Dean ordered, tucking his .45 into the back of his jeans and grabbing the shotgun the girl had dropped. He aimed the barrel at the front door, every muscle tensing in for a fight. “Get him out of here!” Dean snapped, cocking the gun. “They’re coming.”

Bridget was about to argue that there was no way she could shoulder the gigantic man to the back rooms herself, but a loud bang against the door informed her that there was no time to argue. Whatever was out there was coming, and Dean needed to stay put to fend it off. Groaning in pain, she attempted to support Sam, who was now struggling to walk despite his best efforts. Eventually Bridget was able to, not particularly softly, lay the injured man down on a bed, darting to lock to door before attending to his wounds.

In the other room Dean tried to focus on the oncoming threat, but panic at being separated from Sam while he was this hurt began to itch at the back of his mind. “How the hell did this happen.” He muttered to himself, holding steady as the wood bent and splintered, seconds away from breaking off the hinges altogether. Finally the door burst open, sending fractures of wood across the room. Dean opened fire.

**_24 HOURS EARLIER.._ _._ **

Gordon Lightfood’s _Sundown_ played softly from the Impala’s speakers as the two brothers drove down the open road, mountains painting the horizon. Dean had one hand lightly holding the steering wheel in place while he tapped along to the beat, the other hanging out the open window and letting the breeze brush through his fingers. “I’m just saying- that last ghoul, the red head, she was pretty hot.”

Sam sighed, looking up from his phone once again in annoyance. “I _know_ Dean, you’ve mentioned it like a million times.” The younger sibling sat up more in his seat, readying himself for the argument to drag out, as it had been for the past 10 miles. “All _I meant_ was that you might want to remember where her mouth has been before you take her behind a bar and make out with her.” He paused for a moment letting his meaning settle in. “Dead bodies?? For breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” He further explained, when Dean showed no sign of understanding.

The man’s face dropped immediately, and he shrugged his shoulders, putting both hands back on the wheel petulantly. “Whatever. We ganked them all anyhow so it doesn’t matter now does it?” Dean huffed, looking out the window, away from Sam.

“Whatever Dean, you brought it up.” Sam shook his head. He needed to get out of this car, and away from his brother for a bit. They had been on non-stop cases for the past few weeks and hadn’t been able to get back to the bunker once to re-up on clothes, supplies, or alone time. It was uncomfortably like the old days, before they had found out about the Men of Letters and the Bunker. The road signs passing by informed him that they were just 20 short miles from town, where they could get a motel room, and Dean would no doubt head out to the local bar, leaving Sam with some breathing room finally.

A shrill ringing broke Sam from his thoughts, his cell phone vibrating and lighting up in his lap from an incoming call. “It’s Garth.” Sam spoke aloud, reading the caller ID. He answered and switched the phone to speaker. “Hey Garth, what’s up?”

“Sam, how you doin’, buddy?” The former hunter asked excitedly.

“I’m good.” Sam smiled. “Dean’s with me.”

“Yeah, hey Garth, how’s the wife?” Dean asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Deano! She’s perfect. Think we’re ganna start trying for some Pups soon actually!” He added. Sam and Dean exchanged a vaguely mortified look at the information, but shrugged it off. “Now you boys wouldn’t happen to be anywhere near Richardson, Texas would you?” He asked, hopeful.

Sam frowned, wondering what their friend might need. “Uh, no- pretty far from actually.”

“What’s up, Garth?” Dean questioned.

“It’s nothing, just another hunter looking for backup on a pretty large vamp nest.” The man explained, his tone more serious now. For all his quirks, Garth had gotten substantially more determined and serious after he took over Bobby’s job of coordinating and advising hunters. But he’d been done with all that for a while now. Sam and Dean were understanding enough after he became a Werewolf and got out of the hunting game, but others might not be so friendly anymore, and Garth couldn’t risk staying in touch with too many hunters. He wouldn’t put his family at risk like that.

“Sorry we can’t help.” Sam apologized. “I thought you weren’t ‘The Bobby’ anymore?” The man questioned.

“Don’t say it like that.” Dean muttered, still sensitive about the notion of anyone replacing Bobby, despite the time that had passed.

“I’m still retired,” Garth explained, “But a few hunters call the number from time to time and I don’t want to leave them hanging.”

“You’re a good man, Garth.” Dean commented, Sam nodding in agreement.

“Not as good as you boys. But anyhow, don’t worry about the job- I’ll find someone else to help out.” The man settled, “Where are you boys anyways?”

“Just finished up a job on Oregon. We’re heading into...” Sam glanced at the large ‘Welcome’ sign they were about to pass, “...Story, Wyoming.”

“Story?” Garth questioned, with sudden interest.

“Yeah, why?” Sam and Dean exchanged another look.

“You boys mind doing me a favour? There’s a young girl, probably just shy of 18 by now, who lives in Story. Bridget Davies. She and her Dad used to run a sort of safe house for hunters passing by, especially hurt ones. I’d send anyone passing by there to supply up, keep safe. And as a thanks for helping hunters out, I’d make sure someone brought them supplies, food and medical stuff, once in a while. They didn’t get out often, pretty much recluses. But they were good people. I heard Bridget’s Dad died about two years back. If you’re in town anyways, you mind stopping to make sure she’s alright?” The guilt and worry in Garth’s voice was evident. “I should have kept contact with her when I quit hunting, to make sure she was still okay, but I just....”

“Don’t worry about it, Garth.” Dean spoke up. “We’ll check on the girl, bring her some supplies, and let her know they’re from you too.”

“Thanks you guys. I’ll text you the address. Take it easy,”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam added, hanging up.

“So,” Dean glanced at his brother. “Mini vacation in Story, Wyoming.” He smiled, pulling into the parking lot of the dimly lit ‘Mountain Dove Motel’ and throwing baby in park. “Sounds like a good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next Chapter... Sam and Dean meet a young girl named Bridget and have an unsettling run in with a strange hunter...


	2. Bridget Davies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam worries about how Dean is dealing with the Mark, while conflict erupts at the Davies' cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - minor mention of a wound and stitches, not even a little graphic though.

It was still early in the evening when the boys dumped their bags onto their respective beds, settling into the small, but comfortable motel room. Dean headed to the washroom and splashed some cold water on his face to wake himself up, and clean the drive off him. He lifted one arm up and quickly smelled his shirt, “passable.” he nodded, striding out the bathroom and heading for the door.

“Gross, Dean.” Sam commented. He didn’t need to ask where the man was going. He knew his brother would likely head to a bar when they hit town, but it still worried him. He could tell the Mark of Cain was still affecting him, but Dean’s stubbornness meant he was telling Sam next to nothing about it. Not that Sam needed to hear his brother admit it aloud to know how much he was struggling. He could see it in the heavy bags, the weighted silences, and the way he would sometimes grip the steering wheel of the Impala tightly, eyes set hard and foot glued to the accelerator-- as if he was trying to drive fast enough to leave all the dark thoughts and haunting memories behind.

“Smell ya later, Sammy.” Dean smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The door shut, and Sam heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine coming to life, and then disappearing off into the night. He let out a long sigh, pulling out his laptop to do some more research. If there was a cure out there, Sam would find it. Eventually.

It was quarter past two in the morning when Dean finally returned, Sam was already in bed, but woke when he heard the springs of Dean’s bed creak with the newfound weight. In the dark, Sam could make out the outline of his brother, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Sam. Dean’s shoulders were slumped and he was staring at the ground with a concerning intensity. He rubbed his arm and Sam didn’t need to see to know he was touching the Mark. Suddenly Dean rubbed his face roughly, snapping out of whatever haze he had been in, and laid down on top of the covers to sleep. Sam forced himself to shut his eyes, not wanting Dean to catch him staring. He heard movement and could feel Dean’s eyes on him.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean whispered, barely audible. Sam swallowed shallowly, unsure if his brother was apologizing for possibly waking him, or if this was something far more saddening. He didn’t reply.

In the morning, bright beams of sunshine shone in from the open curtains. The mountains were even more beautiful this morning then they had been at dusk during the drive in. Dean was already up and showered, tying his boots up. The older brother tossed a pillow at Sam’s face, grinning. “Up and at em, Sammy!” He called, the physical and verbal assault waking Sam with a jolt.

“God, Dean, what’s your problem.” Sam croaked, checking the clock to see it was barely 7:30.

“Oh I’m _sorry,_ sleeping beauty. I thought we had a job to do.” Dean quipped, packing his bag. “Come on, get dressed. I want to grab some pancakes and bacon before we head to that Davies girl’s house.”

Sam stretched his limbs, tossing the shirt he had slept in off and grabbing a new one from his bag. “That reminds me, did Garth ever mention how her dad died?” Sam questioned. In this line of work, sudden deaths weren’t exactly unusual, but Garth had described them as recluses, which didn’t exactly line up with going down swinging.

“Guess not.” Dean shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“No, I guess not.” Sam conceded.

“Alright then, let’s get some grub- I am _starving!”_ Dean smiled excitedly, already picking up the keys and heading to the door. Sam shook his head in amazement. It was like Dean was a completely different person than the run down, quietly struggling, shell who had come back last night.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sam called, locking up the room behind them and following his brother, as always.

The Davies cabin wasn’t a huge place by any standards, but it was sufficient. Its size was further hidden by its location in a thickly wooded area, down a small dirt path. It was easy to miss unless you were specifically looking for it, which was exactly how they had intended it. The cabin itself was made of simple wood, old enough to have some character but not so old as to appear rotting and splintered. There was a small kitchen with a gas oven, a living room with a few seats, and books stored in every crevice that didn’t have other supplies in it. Bridget had taken over her father’s room, the largest one, having the advantage of being on a separate floor than the rest of the rooms. This left two beds for any hunters that came by, and if necessary, the couch could pull out into a decent bed as well.

Far fewer hunters came by now than when her father had been in charge, but Bridget supposed it was for the best. She liked helping people, and she could defend herself if necessary, but she stayed away from confrontation if she could avoid it. When her father was alive, he would keep the rowdier hunters in line, and make sure they didn’t overstay their welcome. Without him, Bridget relied mostly on hunters having a kind of honour system, which especially applied to not hurting kids. Although not everyone was all that honourable, and she wasn’t exactly a kid anymore.

Bridget had mainly spent the two years since her father died passing the time until her 18th birthday, which was now just 5 months away, when she could apply to nursing school. Patching up hunters had taught her a lot, and she knew that helping people was what she wanted to do with her life. Although, some people were harder to help than others...

This was the case with the male hunter whose shoulder she was currently stitching up. Frank Himble had showed up banging on Bridget’s door at half past seven in the morning, clothing sprayed with blood, and jacket torn to reveal a nasty bite on the back of his shoulder which she recognized as the work of a Rougarou.

The man had cursed and practically elbowed her in the stomach when she cleaned the wound with antiseptic, and he hadn’t gotten any friendlier since. In fact, the only other thing he said to her was demanding some whisky, which she provided if only to calm the agitated hunter. He sat through the stitches without further incident, and Bridget finished up by taping some sterile gauze on top.

“That should heal up nicely.” She told the man, throwing the dirty cotton pads out in the garbage, and going to wash her hands, which were covered in the man’s blood. Usually she wore gloves, but the rough looking hunter hadn’t given her time to properly sanitize and prepare, barking at her to ‘fix him already’.

The warm water turned pink and swirled down the drain as the blood ran off her hands. Bridget could feel the man’s intense gaze on her back as she gently rubbed at her hands. She swallowed heavily, turning the tap off and grabbing a dry kitchen towel, all the time uncomfortably aware of her guest.

“Sorry about before.” The man spoke up, gruffly. “Went two days with that tooth stuck in there before I remembered about this place. Luckily I was just a few towns over.” He explained, finishing the glass of whisky Bridget had given him in one gulp.

“No worries.” Bridget smiled, tight lipped. “You’re all good to go now, shouldn’t bother you much when you drive.” She added, attempting to politely nudge him out the door. The man didn’t bite.

“Say, last I was here wasn’t there another fella working? Older man?” He asked, eyes not subtly scanning down the young girl’s body.

“My Dad. He’s out getting more supplies. I’m perfectly capable of doing stitches, but my father could check them over when he gets back if you’re worried.” She lied.

“No, no,” the man laughed, and it sent chills down Bridget’s spine. “I trust you, Sweetheart.” He grinned, yellowing teeth on full display.

“Alright then.” Bridget nodded. “You’ll be on your way, I guess.” She tried again, holding the front door open.

The man’s eyes darkened, he was behind Bridget in one quick motion, closing the door. “Woah, no need to be so hasty, Sweet little thing. Daddy ain’t home yet.” He played with the ends of her fair curls. “Let’s have some fun.”

Bridget clenched her jaw, her father’s words ringing through her mind. _We devote our lives to helping others, not harming them. But when someone threatens you, you forget any kind of oath. You fight, Bri._ Taking a calming breath, Bridget put on a fake smile. She gently rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. His sickly smile quickly turned to an expression of agony as Bridget squeezed hard into the fresh stitches. “It’s time for you to _go.”_ She hissed, opening the door and throwing the disgusting creep out, slamming and locking the door behind him. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she tried to shake from her head the thought of what could have happened…

Outside, Frank Himble cursed profanities under his breath as he stumbled back up the dirt drive to where he had parked his car. As he walked, a black Impala pulled onto the drive and slowed to a stop. Two men got out and Frank’s eyes widened in recognition. The motherfucking Winchester brothers in the flesh. This was his lucky day after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... Someone is out for the Winchesters...


	3. Frank Himble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters have a run in with a strange hunter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said every other day, but I just felt like posting this one today. So voila.

_Miles City, Montana - Two Weeks Ago._

Frank Himble slumped over the bar; empty beer bottle clutched in his hands, which were scarred and rough from years of hunting and bar fights. With a hefty groan, he sat up, itching the stubble on his chin. “Another.” The man snapped at the bar tender, who was walking by with another patron’s drink. The exasperated employee paused briefly, to note the drunken man’s state, before continuing to the other end of the bar to drop off the drink. When he finally returned, Frank scoffed at younger man. “’Bout time.”

The bartender stared Frank down. “You got money?” He asked, flipping the spill rag he always kept on hand over his shoulder and crossing his arms.

“Ah, screw you.” The man spat, nearly knocking the bar stool over as he stumbled out his seat and headed for the back exit. Maybe there would be a car back there he could break into for some more drinking money. Hunting didn’t pay- unless you compelled the victims to start feeling a little grateful that was... But the goodies, the hunters who really believed they were on a mission to save people and make the world a better place, those fantasizers would disapprove of how Frank conducted business. Killing what needed killing and not caring who got in the way or who got hurt in the process. The worst of those moral tight-asses were the Winchesters. They always acted like they were so much better than everyone else. Just like their dad, John, had been when he was alive.

Just as Frank found what seemed like a promising car, he heard gravel shift behind him. Whipping around, he fumbled to draw his gun from the back of his jeans, aiming unsteadily at whoever was there. “The hell you want!?” He shouted, squinting to see in the dark.

“Easy, Pal. It’s Frank, right? Frank Himble?” Asked a man in a black suit with dark spikey hair. As he stepped into eyesight, he put his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat.

“Whose askin’?” Frank snapped, not lowering his gun.

The spikey haired man smiled, eyes flicking to black. “A friend. Now before you shoot, I have a business proposition for you.” Seeing that the man had no intentions of lowering his gun, he sighed, digging into his pocket for something. “And it pays. _Well.”_

Slowly, Frank lowered his gun, eyes shooting between the giant wad of cash the man had pulled out and his demonic black eyes. “What’s a demon need from a hunter?” He asked, still not trusting the thing.

“My employer wants information on certain people. She’s willing to pay for reported sightings, and depending on the situation, light tailing. The same offer has been made, and happily accepted, by a few of the other...” He paused, picking his words carefully “... _Entrepreneurial_ hunters, less held back by pesky morals.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, “Who are the marks?”

“Ever heard of the Winchesters?”

_Story, Wyoming - Present._

“Well, ain’t that Sam and Dean Winchester?” Frank smiled, holding out a hand. Sam and Dean exchanged a look, each carefully shaking the man’s hand in turn, Sam having to switch the bag of groceries to his other hand to do so. “Frank Himble.” the man introduced himself.

Dean said nothing, just watching the man intently. He didn’t trust other people as a general rule, but especially not other hunters they didn’t know. His dad had taught him that.

Compelled to fill the awkward silence, Sam spoke up. “Nice to meet you man. Is that the Davies house?” He asked, pointing to the cabin behind the man.

“Sure is.” Frank nodded. “Just got patched up myself. Rougarou just couldn’t help but try to get a taste of me.” He chuckled, throatily. Sam nodded politely, Dean did not. “You boys on a hunt? I hadn’t heard about anything suspicious going on in town.”

“Just visiting a friend.” Sam replied, not entirely lying. He wasn’t quite sure who this man was or why he was acting like they were buddies, but there was a nagging sense of discomfort in his stomach which warned Sam to move along sooner rather than later.

“In fact, we need to get going.” Dean spoke up, already heading to the cabin without waiting for Frank’s response. Sam cleared his throat, muttering a quick goodbye before following after his brother.

“That was weird.” Sam whispered to Dean once they were a few paces away from the other hunter.

Dean nodded, glancing back quickly to find that Frank had gotten in his car, but he didn’t like the look the man was giving them. “Tell me about it. Let’s just get inside already.” He knocked on the door, listening for footsteps but instead hearing what sounded like a shotgun cocking.

“I told you to _leave!”_ Shouted Bridget, from the other side of the door.

“Woah, hey—that douche is gone. Don’t shoot.” Dean explained.

There was a small window next to the door covered by sheer curtains. The material was gently tentatively pulled back and a face peeked out for a moment before disappearing. “He’s gone?” The girl asked again.

“Promise.” Sam replied, puppy dog eyes already on, in case she decided to open the door.

There was a pause, and then the sound of locks unclicking, and finally the door opened. Bridget stood, shot gun still in hand, but not aimed, uncertainty still painting her face. She gave the men a look over, noting the paper bag of groceries in Sam’s arms, before nodding for them to come inside.

“Sorry about that.” She apologized, placing the gun on the nearby counter. “Are either of you hurt or just looking for a bed for the night? There’s two open” She said, in the same professional tone someone working at a hotel might have.

“Why’d you run him out?” Dean asked, ignoring Bridget's question.

“He got handsy.” She replied, trying to maintain a hard face, but the fear still lingered behind her eyes. Dean felt his fists clench. He hated people like that more than he hated Demons. At least Demons could blame it on not having a soul. Men like Frank were just scum.

“Sorry to hear that.” Sam sympathized. “But, uh, we’re not actually looking for anything. Garth heard we were in the area and asked us to check up on you, bring you some supplies.” He explained, handing her the bag of food and gauze.

“You are Bridget Davies, right?” Dean asked, wandering around the living room a bit.

“That’s me.” She nodded, seeming more relaxed having heard their explanation. “I haven’t heard from Garth in a while. I... was actually worried he might have been dead.” She frowned, beginning to pack the groceries away in the small fridge.

“He retired. Got out the hunting life. He says he’s sorry for not keeping in touch, but it was...uh... a complicated situation.” Sam explained, without sharing the man’s secret.

“As long as he’s okay. He was always really kind to my Dad and me.”

Dean circled back to the kitchen, preparing himself for an awkward conversation. “He also mentioned that your Dad passed away a while back.” He ventured.

Bridget’s body stiffed, pausing for a moment before she put the final can away and closed the fridge door. “I can take care of myself.” She said, firmly, eyes glancing to the gun on the table.

“Easy, kid.” Dean held his hands up. “We just wanted to give our condolences- Garth too.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to bother you. Sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable.” Sam added.

Bridget’s hard expression softened a bit, and Dean had to resist rolling his eyes. Always the puppy dog eyes. They never ceased to work when they needed someone to trust them. “That’s alright.” She nodded, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water. “Thanks for the supplies. Thank Garth for me too. You guys are welcome to stay for a while if you like. No offense but you both kind of look like crap.” She smiled, for the first time since Sam and Dean arrived. “I think of this less as my place, and more like I just take care of it. My dad always wanted it to be a place for the good guys to rest easy.”

Dean was surprisingly touched by the sentiment. It wasn’t often in their life that people appreciated what they did. He exchanged a look with Sam, who shrugged. “We’ve got time for some coffee I guess.”

“One coffee. And for you, uh... sorry I didn’t actually catch your names.” Bridget realized.

“I’m Sam, and that’s my brother Dean.” The younger man answered, with a smile.

“Sam and Dean, like....Winchester?” Bridget asked, eyes wide. She had heard stories about the famous brothers over the years from hunters passing through. It never took more than a few drinks for hunters to start telling stories about all their greatest fights and the craziest things they’d seen or heard about. Usually the Winchesters walking off death won the latter category. But love them, hate them, fear them, (or the occasional- don’t believe they even really exist), anyone in the supernatural business knew at least a little something about the Winchesters.

“Do people really talk about us that much?” Dean cringed. He also wondered in passing if one of these days they’d start getting asked for autographs…

“Well I mean, as someone who spends her life patching up dying hunters, meeting two guys who can’t seem to die is a bit novel.”

“No one’s indestructible.” Dean said, eyes suddenly hallow, as he went to take a seat on the couch.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” Bridget quietly asked Sam.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam assured her. “And, I’ll have coffee too, thanks.” He changed the subject.

Switching back into host most, Bridget smiled and nodded, returning to the drinks. She couldn’t help but risk a glance at Dean, who was now staring out the window, one hand itching at something on his other arm. She could sense something about him that didn’t seem right, but she pushed it to the back of her mind for now...

Frank reversed off the driveway, heading down the street a ways, to get out of eyeshot, before pulling over. He dug a business card out his pocket, dialing the number and waiting. It rang once before someone picked up.

“What?” Came a voice that he recognized to be the spikey haired demon’s.

“I uh, I found ‘em. The Winchesters that is.” Frank explained. “They’re in Story, Wyoming.”

“I’ll pass it along to my employer.”

“Now when do I get paid?” Frank barked into the receiver.

“You’ll get your money.” The demon assured him. “Keep an eye on them and wait for further instructions.”

“I want double if I gotta play babysitter too.” Frank bartered.

“Fine.”

The line went dead. Frank glanced in the rear window to make sure no one was around to see him, and began looking for a place to hide the car while he waited to follow the Winchesters when they left. He didn’t know what this demon and his mysterious employer wanted, but he didn’t care. Money was money, and if those snob-nosed brothers bit it for Frank to get paid, that was just fine by him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... The mysterious employer who is after the Winchesters is revealed...


	4. Impetus Bestiarum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight leaves Sam with a fatal injury and Bridget with a difficult choice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some violence, injury, blood.  
> Bonus points if you can spot the Good Omens reference.

Rowena stalked down the halls of Hell, the clacking of her heels echoing against the dismal, grey walls. The few Demons she passed on her way to the throne room ducked their eyes away, desperately attempting not to offend the woman who had, in her short time by the King of Hell’s side, had a direct hand in the brutal death of multiple demons. The action brought a wicked smile to the witch’s face.

Pushing the doors of the throne room open, Rowena was pleased to find that no one was around. Humming to herself, she carefully took a seat on the King’s throne. Anyone else who might presume to touch the seat would assure themselves some eternal torment at the _least_ , but Rowena felt she had some entitlement sit there. Afterall, she was the _Queen Mother_. Fergus—or rather, _Crowley_ , as her daft child had renamed himself—owed her his very life blood. That gift ought to buy her some time on the throne.

Just as the witch was getting comfortable, imagining what fresh torments she could come up with for the sniveling sycophants who called themselves _demons_ , who hovered around her son constantly, just waiting to stab him in the back, her phone began to ring.

“ _What is it?”_ Rowena hissed, her ruby lips pursing dangerously.

“One of the hunters I hired for you, My Lady. He’s located the Winchester brothers. I have him observing them now.” The man, or rather Demon, on the other end of the call explained hurriedly, eager not to piss off the vicious woman.

“Ay that’s _fantastic_!” Rowena smiled, twirling her fiery locks between her long, slender fingers. “Now, do exactly as I instructed you. All the ingredients are on the list, and—ah, this _hunter_ who has found them, he can at least _read_ Latin, yes?” Rowena confirmed. They were a savage lot, and for all she knew reading and writing might not be common practice between hunting down and murdering innocent witches who were minding their own business, fermenting evil.

“Yes, ma’am.” The demon replied.

“ _Good._ Now hurry along and get it done.” Rowena snapped, just as the doors opened once more and none other than Crowley himself waltzed in.

“Mother.” Crowley greeted coldly. “What have I told you about sitting on _my_ throne?” He questioned, tone less threatening and more annoyed.

Immediately Rowena switched personas, into the loving and protective mother… although it gave even her a headache to hear herself dote and beg her way into her son’s good graces. “Oh, forgive me Fergus, I’m not quite as young as I once was. My poor wee bones needed a break. _Of course_ you should sit in _your_ throne.” She feigned.

“Yes, well then.” The King dismissed his mother with an indifferent hand, taking a seat. Rowena was almost at the door when Crowley stopped her. “Just a moment, _Mother_.” He called. “Who were you on the phone with?” He asked, calm but accusatory.

Rowena smiled, tightly. “Oh, just one of your underlings, I _cannae_ even remember their name. Just requesting a few wee ingredients. Trifles really, to keep the skin fresh and those pesky wrinkles away.” She lied.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. He didn’t quite believe his mother. Afterall, he knew her first as a lying bitch and _second_ as a terrible mother. But he didn’t care enough to press her any further on the matter. “Not very well, it seems.” The man sniped.

It took all of Rowen’s strength to keep smiling, and not stab her ungrateful, brat of a son right in that smug face of his. “You’ve always been a quick witted one, _Fergus._ ” She muttered, emphasizing the name she knew he hated, before quickly exiting.

The interaction with her son may have put her in a foul mood on any other day, but today Rowena smiled as she walked back to her room, delighted by the thought that by tonight the Winchester brothers would be dead.

Two cups of coffee later, Sam was pouring through the lore books which littered every available space in the Davies cabin. Dean watched with a face of equal embarrassment and amusement that only an older sibling could perfect. “God you’re a nerd. Quit raiding her stuff.” He scoffed, taking a sip of the beer that he had switched to after the first cup of coffee.

Bridget chuckled at the interaction. “It’s fine, really. The books are here to help hunters.” She assured Sam, who had looked distraught at thinking he might have to stop. “Actually, it’s a big help having lore books around. People don’t always come by with physical injuries. Sometimes they’re cursed or magically poisoned. One time a guy banged on the door holding a ferret in his hands and claiming it was his partner.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “That’s awesome.”

“Did you get him turned back?” Sam asked.

“Turns out it was just a normal ferret. The guy didn’t even have a partner. Someone had just put a spell on him. I spent 20 minutes trying to calm down the Ferret, who _I thought_ was a person, while my Dad dealt with the actual problem.” She chuckled softly. “Dad was really good at spotting what was wrong with people.” She added, quieter.

Sam and Dean exchanged a concerned look. “Bridget, are you okay here all by yourself.” Sam ventured. “Because, we’ve got some friends who—”

“—I’m fine, really. It’s just a bit harder without my Dad. But I get by.” She smiled, unconvincingly. “You guys dropping some groceries off saves me a walk into town. So that’s great.”

“Walk?” Dean questioned. “What’s wrong with the truck I saw parked ‘round the side?”

“Can’t get it to work. Show me a laceration, I can suture that thing in a snap, but mechanics? Not my area of expertise.” Bridget admitted.

Dean finished off his beer and stood up, clasping his hands together. “Alright, show the way to your toolbox and I’m on it.”

“Really?” The young girl asked, relief flooding her eyes.

“Dean’s a great mechanic, he’ll have it fixed in no time.” Sam added, smiling up at his brother. It was nice to see him feeling relaxed and confident like this. It wasn’t like they had another case lined up, so why not help the girl out.

“It’s all outside.” Bridget pointed round back. “Thank you so much!” She added, earning a nod from Dean as he headed outside. “I’ll make you guys a pie to take with you when he’s done. Feel free to keep looking through the books.” She said to Sam, who happily resumed reading.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Dean outside, under the hood of the Davies’ truck, Sam inside comparing the Men of Letters’ collections with Bridget’s, while Bridget herself baked up a storm in the kitchen.

“You’ve got some books that we don’t even have in the Bunker- and the guys who owned it before us were like crazy librarians.” Sam exclaimed, having moved on to the more impressive books which Bridget kept hidden usually.

The girl simply shrugged and smiled, “My Dad collected old lore books.” She explained, vaguely.

Before Sam could ask a follow up question, Dean came inside, wiping some grease from his hands onto a towel. “Almost done out there, just running into to town to grab a part. Be back in a few.”

“Sounds good, thanks again Dean.” Bridget acknowledged, checking on the pies in the oven. “Shoot, looks like the gas is getting low. Should finish the pies off, but I’ll need to change the tank after.” She mused aloud.

“I can grab it; those things are heavy.” Sam offered.

“Thanks, they’re in the shed up the path a bit ‘round back.” She informed the man, who nodded and headed out.

From his car, which now unfortunately had two demons sitting in it with him, Frank watched Dean drive away in the Impala, noting Sam’s absence from the passenger seat. If the man remembered anything from the stories that he had heard about the Winchester brothers, it was that the only time they came close to being ‘vulnerable’ was when they were separated.

“Now’s our chance.” Frank told the demons, who seemed to regard him with as much disgust as he did them. The spikey haired demon, who’s name Frank hadn’t bothered to learn, had appeared with the two other demons, and given him two hex bags and a set of instructions. Frank wasn’t one for fancy plans and magics, he was more stab first ask questions later, but this was the way the guy with the money wanted to do it, so it would get done.

Frank led the two demons through the woods quietly, catching sight of Sam Winchester heading down a path deeper into the trees. _Perfect_ , Frank thought, nodding for the demons to follow him. Once the man was distracted inside the shed, Frank subtly pulled out the hex bags, slipping one in each of the demons’ pockets. Still unsure about this whole thing, Frank unfolded the piece of paper that had two single words on it.

“ _Impetus Bestiarum”_ Frank said, butchering the Latin, but getting it close enough. Frank’s first confirmation that it worked was the two demons suddenly convulsing, one letting out a deafening scream. Thinking quickly, Frank backed away and hid behind a tree.

Hearing the scream, Sam came running out the shed, looking around wildly. The now feral demons spotted Sam and leapt into action, charging at the man. Frank watched as the two additionally powered up demons easily took the large man down.

They both threw punches, scratching at Sam’s face and tossing him around. The younger Winchester was a good fighter, but against two savage demons with no back up, it was shaping up to be a short battle.

Just then, the rumble of the impala pulling onto the driveaway could be heard. Sam’s eyes widened with hope. “DEAN!!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, managing to kick one of the demons away. “DEAN HELP!” He called again.

Dean came running up the path, gun drawn. Seeing two people attacking his brother, Dean opened fire without question. The bullets did nothing, unfortunately, so Dean ran at the demon that was currently choking Sam out, tearing into the thing and knocking it back, away from his brother.

Dean struggled against the one demon, while Sam caught his breath and tried to get to his feet again. Before he even had a chance to grab the demon blade or his gun, the other demon returned, having found a crowbar somewhere on the ground near the shed. Sam gasped in pain as the crowbar connected with his back, causing him to fall down to his knees.

The demon raised the crowbar again, aiming for the head this time. “LOOK OUT!” Dean shouted at his brother, who moved to the side just in time. Instead of hitting him on the crown of his skull, the curved edge of the crowbar dug itself in between the bottom of Sam’s neck and his shoulder. Sam shouted in agony as the Demon pulled the weapon back for another blow, ripping his skin open further in the process.

Blood began to stream out from the wound, filling Dean with a surge of anger and fear that allowed him to throw his demon back and wrestle the crowbar from the other one, planting it through his stomach and into the ground, pinning him still momentarily.

Quickly Dean grabbed his brother and dragged him back to the cabin, bursting through the door.

_“Help in here!”_

_“What’s going on?!”_

_“HELP HIM.”_

Bridget dragged Sam to the back room, locking the door behind them. She tried to keep her panic in check as she attempted to help Sam, but his wound was bleeding profusely, and she didn’t have the proper supplies in here to do anything.

“Oh god, oh god.” Bridget panicked, tears building in her eyes as the blood started seeping through her fingers. “DEAN!” She called, unsure what else to do.

In the living room, Dean crashed through the coffee table, the wood splintering in all directions. The demon blade went flying out his hands, under the couch. Dean growled in frustration, wrestling with the demon, who showed no signs of tiring.

To Dean’s distress, the demon he had pinned to the ground entered the cabin, un-phased by the crowbar sized hole in its stomach. It ignored Dean, sniffing the air and following the trail of blood which led to Sam and Bridget. “NO!” The man cried, helplessly.

The door flew open, causing Bridget to scream. The demon advanced on her, and she desperately tried to kick it away, while keeping pressure on Sam’s wound. The demon grabbed her legs, dragging her down onto the floor and leaping on top of her. Its dirt covered hands gripped her throat and squeezed.

“D…ean…” Bridget tried to shout, but her voice was nothing more than a raspy croak. She glanced to Sam whose breathing was becoming shallower and shallower, as was her own…

_You fight, Bri._

Reaching out with all her strength, Bridget grasped Sam’s limp arm. She closed her eyes and put all the will power she had left into focusing on Sam, and not the burning sensation in her lungs. A subtle otherworldly glow erupted all over Bridget’s body, causing her skin to glisten white. Slowly but surely, Sam’s wound began to close, the gash appearing on Bridget’s neck instead in the same location. Just as her eyes watered and slowly closed, Sam was healed, sitting up and gasping with life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... Bridget's decision to save Sam puts all three of them in far more danger than they could ever have imagined...


	5. Mairi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean narrowly escape an dangerous situation, but, unbeknownst to them, something far more sinister has been put into motion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Happy Mothers day to y'all out there, including Dean Winchester who was Sammy's mom /and/ dad.   
> Warnings: Minor violence

In the crypts of the Cathedral of Saint Helena, Mairi sat in front of her master’s tomb, opening her mind to any energies that might come to her. Her frayed auburn hair clung to her damp skin. The underground crypts, cold to most, had a mild burning effect on those not supposed to step foot on holy grounds- those like Mairi. It had been decades since _he_ had left her in this place, and the years had not been kind. Even those tricks witches could use only slowed down the aging process. When Mairi had been taken on as an apprentice she was young, eighteen, considered a great beauty among her small Scottish village. Her future had been so bright… But all that was gone now. 

Mairi was bound to her master, bound to his side by the spell she had to ever feed and watch over to keep it going. The years of isolation, trapped on consecrated grounds that made her blood boil, had made her desperate. So long as her master was in this dormant state, kept alive only by the encasement spell Mairi constantly upheld, she was trapped too.

As Mairi meditated, shivers suddenly ran through her body and she was overwhelmed by the sensation of old-world magic; the kind thought to be extinct. Mairi’s eyes snapped open. She quickly went to her altar, throwing bay leaves onto the small burning pyre. Each leaf crackled and sparked as it was consumed by the flames. _“Origo”_ she chanted, as she threw more leaves onto the flame.

The magic was fading just as quickly as it had appeared in the world, but if she knew where it came from, she was sure she could track down the source. Mairi focused her energies and just as the last traces of the magic dissipated, she could see a word in her minds eye: _Story._

Mairi smirked, casting a glance at her master’s tomb. “We will not be stranded any longer, master.”

Sam gasped, shooting up and clutching his hand to his neck. His dizziness was gone, and he felt his strength returning to him. Confused, Sam looked to Bridget, quickly remembering the situation they were in and jumping into action.

Sam shoved the demon off Bridget, pinning it to the ground as it flailed and growled. Bridget lay motionless on the floor beside them. He could hear the sounds of another struggle coming from the other room, and Sam was relieved to know that at least his brother was still alive and fighting.

These were not normal demons, that much was obvious. Their aggression and strength reminded Sam of that woman who Rowena had set on them. Remembering that the spell had burned through the woman, quickly killing her, Sam knew what he had to do. He began exorcising the demon, reciting the Latin with practiced ease despite the thrashing creature beneath him. “… _Audi…NOS!”_ Sam finished, a black cloud of smoke shooting out from the man’s mouth and disappearing into the ground. The man, now human again, let out a weakened growl, grip on Sam weakening until his face paled and he eventually stopped breathing.

Sam panted, wasting no time in getting up and checking the hallway for any other demons. As he did so, Bridget gasped, the wound on her neck gone suddenly, leaving just the blood that was now sticking to her skin. Hearing this, Sam whipped around, surprised to find the girl alive.

“Bridget? Are you alright?” He asked, helping her stand up.

“I’m fine- Where’s Dean?” She asked, eyes wide with fear.

“Stay here.” Sam told her, taking off to the living room and leaving Bridget on her own.

The shaken girl nodded, barely making it to the bed before collapsing down and placing her head in her lap. She had never used her powers before. She felt drained, and there was a tingling sensation on her neck where her skin had ripped open only to re-heal. She had been given no choice-- Die, or save the man who could help her. Yet Bridget worried about the consequences of what she had done…

In the living room, Sam pulled the demon off Dean, holding it steady. Dean grabbed the demon blade from under the couch and quickly stabbed the feral creature in the heart. He felt the mark surge as the blade slid inside easily. It felt like electricity was shooting through his arm. He twisted the blade, and the demon’s eyes flickered before its body went limp, falling to the ground.

“What the hell just happened!?” Dean grunted, holding his shoulder, which he suspected was dislocated by the throbbing sensation he was experiencing.

“I don’t know, but I think we’d better get out of here. There could be more.” Sam grabbed his brothers arm and shoulder, waiting for a nod of approval before jamming the dislocated limb back in place. Dean let out a painful grunt followed by a sigh of relief. “You good?” Sam asked, moving to go get Bridget, but Dean stopped him by grabbing his arm.

“Yeah _I am_ , but wait a second, are _you_ good?” He asked, face serious as he tried to inspect his brother’s wound, but found nothing. “What the—”

“I don’t know.” Sam answered, swallowing thickly.

Bridget appeared, standing nervously in the doorway.

Dean glanced between the two, tucking the blade back into his jacket. “Let’s just get out of here. Now.”

The three of them drove in the Impala to a motel on the outskirts of town, parking the car in the shallow woods behind the lot, so they wouldn’t be found. Dean, as the least covered in blood, went to check them into a room, still trying rolling his shoulder every so often in discomfort.

When the door closed behind them, Dean immediately turned on Bridget, adrenaline from the Mark still coursing through him. “Who were those people?” He demanded, causing the young girl to flinch back.

“I- I don’t know.” She stammered. She tried to meet Dean’s gaze, but his eyes, which used to be sad, but kind, now had nothing but darkened rage behind them.

“They weren’t after you?”

“No! I mean… I don’t think so?”

This seemed to piss the man off even more. “ _You don’t think so_!? My brother almost _died_! Think about it for another minute!” He shouted.

This time Sam intervened, shoving his brother back, away from the girl. “Dean! Calm down it’s not her fault!” He glanced back at Bridget, who was keeping her eyes glued to the ground. “Those demons were under some kind of spell.”

Dean felt his anger deflate into frustration. “Rowena.”

Sam nodded.

“But how?” Dean asked, rubbing his face, trying to get rid of the anxious buzz that was lingering from the Mark, but not yet gone. Or, as gone as it seemed to get these days…

“I don’t know. But those things were definitely her handy work. We should lay low for a while and then get back to the bunker.” Sam suggested.

Dean nodded in agreement. “I’m ganna go get cleaned up.” He sighed, glancing at Bridget guiltily as he passed her. He knew he had snapped again. It was happening more often, even when he hadn’t been in a fight. Anger just boiled inside of him and he lashed out at whoever was nearest.

Sam watched his brother go; concern written all over his face. When the bathroom door closed, he turned his attention to Bridget, who seemed even smaller now as she held her arms against herself, lost in thought.

“Bridget?” He called, softly, not wanting to startle her. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Oh…yeah, I’m fine.” She answered, quickly.

Sam frowned, grabbing a towel from the counter and wetting it in the sink. He rang the extra water out and gently dabbed at the blood on Bridget’s neck. The cold water snapped the girl out of her haze, and she pushed his arm away.

“I’m fine.” She quickly exclaimed.

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he noticed that there was no wound beneath the blood. His hand slowly came up to feel his own neck, where he also had blood but no wound. “Bridget what happened back there?” He asked, quietly.

Frank Himble kicked one of the broken bits of wood out of his way as he examined the scene in the living room. The smell of blood, sulphur, and something burning, all hung in the air. Frank wandered over to the oven, turning it off and opening the door to reveal two blackened, burnt pies. “That’s a shame.” The man mused, letting the door slam shut again.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had been given. “Your fancy plan didn’t work. And the brothers are in the wind with some girl.” Frank crumbled the card he had been given and dropped it on the floor. “Find someone else to be your tracking hound from now on. I’m done. And I want my god damned money.” He snapped.

Frank felt the air behind him shift and he turned around in time to see an angel blade being shoved into his chest. The man sputtered, blood dripping from his mouth as he slid to the ground. The spikey haired demon glowered over the hunter’s dead body, blood dripping off his blade. “Fine then, your employment has now been terminated.”

Wiping off his blade, the demon shook his head. “Rowena won’t be pleased about this…” He tucked the blade back into his jacket. “Never send a hunter to do a demon’s job I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... The truth about Bridget comes out...
> 
> A/N - FUCK Frank Himble, do /not/ RIP.


	6. Caladrius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean find out the truth about Bridget...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None  
> A/N - Oooooh we're halfway thereeeee, oooooh living on coffeeeeee :P

_“Bridget, what happened back there?”_ Sam asked, quietly. He took a seat on the edge of one of the beds, wiping the blood off his neck with the wet towel. Without the sticky red substance, there was no sign he had ever been hurt at all. Sam and Dean had both been brought back from the edge of death, or in Dean’s case, from death itself, by supernatural means. He recognized the churning feeling in his gut, the chill in his bones; as if the echoes of lifelessness still clung despite being very much alive. “Things started getting a bit foggy back there, but I remember enough to know that I was a goner.” He glanced up at Bridget, who couldn’t meet his eyes. “How am I alive?”

Bridget rubbed her arm anxiously, and Sam could see that she was torn. “I…had no choice. We would have both died if I didn’t,” she whispered, afraid to say any more.

Sam swallowed thickly, recognizing in Bridget the same fear and shame he had felt when he had first started getting visions due to the demon blood. He hadn’t been much older to Bridget when it happened to him. “Listen, I won’t push if you don’t want to talk about it. But,” he stood up and put a comforting hand on Bridget’s shoulder, “ _thank you._ ”

Dean exited the bathroom, cleaned up. Bridget took the opportunity to avoid responding to the confusing praise. Her father had always ingrained in her that she should avoid using her powers at all cost. That in these days, when modern medicine could do so much, nothing good could come from revealing themselves. But she had saved Sam, and in return he had saved her life too, letting them all escape relatively unharmed. She felt troubled but also…proud of herself.

Glancing at his brother briefly, Sam turned back to Bridget, who was inspecting the painting on the wall. “Listen, it’s probably not safe for you to go home anytime soon. More demons might come looking for us, and they won’t ask you nicely where we went. You should probably come with us, let us get you somewhere safe,” the man suggested.

Bridget gave the man a tight-lipped smile. “Sure,” she agreed, turning back to the painting to hide her guilty expression.

“Hey kid…” Dean began, pressing his lips together as he struggled to find the words. “I’m…I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to jump on you like that…” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed at his outburst. “I don’t know what went down, but I get the sense you saved my brother’s life, so that makes you OK in my book.”

Bridget watched the man carefully. Whatever angry force that had been behind his eyes was seemingly gone. She once again tried to ignore the mild haze of something almost… poisonous… which clung to the man. It was something not entirely human…

“It’s okay… You guys probably saved my life back there, so I guess we’re even.” She glanced at Sam as she spoke. “If we’re not leaving for a while, I think I’m going to crash for a bit. Having a near death experience kind of took it out of me,” she admitted.

“Sure, yeah.” Dean nodded, “Take the bed, Sammy and I will keep an eye out.”

Bridget gave the man a small smile, attempting to convey that she was not scared of him anymore. She had intended to merely rest, staying aware in case it turned out that she couldn’t trust the Winchesters, although they had given her no real reason to believe she couldn’t; but the moment her head hit the pillow exhaustion won out and she fell asleep quickly.

Mairi hummed old Wiccan verses as she assembled bones together, tying them with string and pieces of her hair. She smiled as she tightened the final knots, and placing a single gold coin in the skull to complete the macabre puppet. “ _Oculi mei,_ _manibus meis_ _. ARISE.”_ She chanted.

Slowly the skeleton rose to its feet, a horrifying patchwork of re-assembled bones, some broken, some moss covered, all human in origin. Mairi smiled at her creation, taking the necklace she wore, which her master had given her, and placing it over the creation. “When you find the Caladrius, bring it back to me using this.” The necklace’s link to her master, as well as the hex bag she had attached on the chain, would be enough magic to draw them back to this place that she could not herself leave. “Take it when it is alone, I don’t want any trouble ruining my plans.” Mairi added, returning to her altar to await her prized ingredient.

Dean finished checking all the salt lines along the doors and windows of the motel room, taking a seat on the couch next to Sam, who was glued to his laptop. “So why do we think Rowena is gunning for us?” the man asked. “I mean, I know it’s easier to list everyone who _isn’t_ out for us, but Rowena made a clean get away from that hotel. Why would she reveal herself to come after us?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed, disinterested.

Dean gave Sam an expectant look. “Dude? You okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, just…researching.” Sam turned the laptop screen so his brother could see. It was open to a lore website about healing. There was an image that looked like it was from an old European manuscript of a sickly man in bed with a bird on its chest. In the next panel the man was sat up and healthy looking, and the bird was flying away. “What do you think of this?”

Dean glanced at the image, shaking his head. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s a depiction of a Caladrius. A sort of mythic creature, often depicted as a bird, that can heal others by taking their injuries into themselves- sort of absorbing whatever is wrong and healing it on themselves. They’re thought to be extinct.” Sam explained, glancing to Bridget’s sleeping form. “I think Bridget may be one.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he looked between the bird and the sleeping girl. “If she is, she’s got a hell of a lot less feathers than her picture.” The man commented, not buying Sam’s theory.

“Come on man, the bird image was more symbolic. Clipped wings, kept pets. They were often enslaved and forced to heal people. That’s why they were driven to extinction.” Sam paused, closing his laptop. “Or at least, supposedly to extinction.”

“And you think Bridget is one?”

Sam nodded. “It adds up. I was going to die, Dean. I knew it, I could feel it. And then, there was this sensation on my arm, and I woke up feeling fine. Bridget was on the floor; I thought she was dead, there was so much blood on her. Then suddenly she’s awake and fine also? We’re both just… _okay_?” He questioned.

Dean thought it over for a moment before sighing. “Well what did the kid say when you asked her about it?”

“Nothing. She freaked out. Muttered something about ‘having to’ before looking like she was ganna dart if I asked another question.” Sam rubbed at his neck where he had been injured. “I guess if my purpose was healing, but I wasn’t allowed to use my powers because I was in hiding, patching people up manually is a pretty good second option.”

“So what does this mean for us? Her house isn’t safe anymore if demons know about it. But if she’s really one of these rare Caladra-bird things, that makes her a target. We can’t just leave her unprotected.” Dean added.

“She agreed to come to the bunker. I guess we just go from there? Maybe call Garth and let him know too?” Sam suggested. Keeping her in the bunker wasn’t a permanent solution, but it was a start. They could find a new safe house where Bridget could get set up; some place where she wouldn’t be in danger. Sam figured he owed her that much for saving his life.

“Guess so.” Dean agreed. “Saving Mythic bird girls, fighting super powered demons sent by rouge witches, what’s next? Zombies?” Dean scoffed, standing up. “I’m ganna check us out and bring the car around. We should get out of here.”

“Sounds good.” Sam nodded. While Dean left, Sam went to the washroom to wet his face with cold water to try and wake up before the long drive. He dried his face in the towel and turned back to wake Bridget only to find her gone.

“Bridget?” Sam called, looking around the small motel room. “BRIDGET!?”

Outside, Bridget had snuck around the motel the opposite way, to avoid Dean. It was dark and fog was rolling down from the mountains ominously. Bridget ignored the cold, crossing the street and continuing down an alley way, glancing behind her every few steps to make sure no one was following her. She had woken up midway into the brothers’ conversation, hearing enough to realize that they knew what she was, and they were planning to tell another hunter. Bridget felt betrayed and scared. For all she knew this “bunker” they wanted to take her to wasn’t a safe house, but somewhere to keep her imprisoned like her ancestors; nothing more than free healing on tap. So, when both brothers were distracted, Bridget made a run for it.

She was a few blocks away when she finally stopped, catching her breath. Bridget realized that although she had decided to run, she hadn’t thought about where she could go. They would obviously look for her at her house so that wasn’t an option. There was no guarantee Dean had gotten the truck running, so she couldn’t count on that escape either. Breathing heavily, Bridget crouched down, back to the wall of the alley and tried to think. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped Bridget’s shoulder, pulling her up…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... Dean and Bridget have a heart to heart...


	7. Isaac and Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Bridget have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor violence

_-Helena, Montana 1864-_

Mairi hated the clothes she had to wear. She hated the way she had to do her hair. She hated the way the other pathetic townspeople looked down at her because of her accent. There was nothing about their current situation that Mairi did not hate. She wished more than anything to be back in her home country. Her master had brought them to America after the Berwick Trials, when even the Grand Coven was falling apart. That was when her master had decided it was time for them to completely disassociate from the others. _We won’t let ourselves be dragged down in their demise,_ he had assured her. But Mairi wondered what could possibly wait for them on this miserable continent.

As Mairi suspected, they weren’t safe anywhere. Between American hunters and their ridiculous associates, the _‘Men of Letters’,_ they couldn’t even practice magic anymore. That was why her master had brought them to this place- to hide. They would pose as immigrants and found this new town along with the humans, to gain their trust.

“Master Aodh, why do we hide ourselves like cowards?” She hissed as they walked through town early in the morning.

“I told you already _Mary_ , you cannot call me that in public. I am Isaac Summerville now.” Her master replied, not even sparing her a glance.

“Our brothers and sisters burn and hang, our magic stolen by those beasts that call themselves hunters, and you sit here playing founder!” Mairi seethed, her voice raising. “You are wea—” She was silenced by a hard slap across her cheek.

Mairi looked up, holding her burning cheek, to see her master’s eyes burning with anger. She shrank back. “I’m sorry, Mas-- Mr. Summerville.” She corrected herself, meekly.

Master Aodh adjusted his tanned jacket, voice threateningly quiet as he spoke close to her ear. “You devoted yourself to me as your master- your teacher and protector. I am doing this to keep us alive. So that one day we might continue your education, Mairi, without threat of death. But if you question my decisions again…” he gave a gentle, warning tug on the pendant around her neck, “…I will leave you to burn on the pyre.” When he finished talking, he pulled back, inspecting the mark on her cheek. “Clean yourself up and get back to the house.”

Mairi watched her master walk away, fighting the urge to scream with frustration. As she turned to leave, she noticed her master stopping once more to talk to a local woman. Mairi hid herself and listened in.

“Good morning, Miss Eleanor.” He greeted warmly, in a reverent tone that Mairi had never heard come out of his mouth before.

“Good morning to you as well, Mr. Summerville.” The woman smiled. She was Mairi’s age, perhaps a year older, with olive skin and soft brown curls. She blushed, glancing down at the ground. “How is your niece, Miss Mary?” She asked.

“She is difficult, as ever.” Master Aodh shook his head, causing Mairi to purse her lips. “But your smile could make a man forget all the difficulties in life.” He grinned, gently pressing a kiss to her delicate hand.

Mairi couldn’t watch anymore. She was horrified. It was bad enough they had to associate with these hick-Americans, most of them didn’t even know how to write, but the thought that her Master, one of the greatest Witches in all of Europe, might debase himself by feeling affection for a human…She felt all her hopes and dreams of becoming a powerful witch, and ruling her own coven, disappear with the brisk autumn breeze.

_Story, Wyoming- Present._

_Breathing heavily, Bridget crouched down, back to the wall of the alley and tried to think. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped Bridget’s shoulder, pulling her up…_ Bridget let out a startled scream, immediately trying to rip herself out of the hold.

“Hey, HEY! Calm down.” Came a familiar voice. Bridget stopped struggling long enough to take in that the hand was Dean’s, before trying to run again. Dean held his grip, keeping her in place. “Settle down, kid!” Dean tried again. “I don’t know what spooked you, but I’m not ganna hurt you,” he assured her.

Bridget gave one more half hearted tug at her arm, tears building in her eyes. “You will! I heard you and Sam talking, you know what I am. I’m not safe with you!” she argued, looking around for anyone who could help her get away from the man.

Dean sighed, taking a deep breath before looking at the girl again. “Okay, yes, we know what you are. And we know that people have a history of mistreating your kind, but my brother and I aren’t like them. We help people. We would never take advantage of you or sell you out,” he said, in a soft voice.

Bridget’s gaze hardened, anger rising up inside her. “Oh really!? Because I already heard you talking about telling Garth, and who knows who else!” Bridget accused.

Dean pressed his lips together, guiltily. “It’s not what you think, okay.” He softened his grip on Bridget’s arm, but still kept her from running away. “You can trust Garth. He doesn’t need your healing because he’s a Werewolf; they’re pretty tough on their own,” Dean explained. “We were only going to call him because he knows a lot of safe houses. He could help find you a new place to stay, one where no one will bother you.”

“No- you’re lying. I can’t trust you!” Bridget shook her head. “I can’t trust anyone.” Tears were now falling easily from the young girl’s eyes. Dean’s heart clenched. He had seen brutal things in his life without flinching, watched loved ones die without shedding a tear; but he couldn’t stand to see a kid cry. It brought out all his instincts from when Sammy was young and Dean had to take care of him alone.

“Bridget, I know how scary it must seem without your Dad, but—”

At the mention of her father, Bridget grew angrier. “Without my Dad?” She repeated, bitterly. “Yeah, and do you want to know how he died!?” she asked, roughly wiping tears from her cheeks. “We went on a road trip to the Grand Canyon for my birthday. The first trip we had _ever_ gone on. The car in front of us flipped off the road and the driver was ganna die.” The distraught girl could no longer meet Dean’s eyes, her head fell and she stared at the ground as she forced herself to keep speaking. “My Dad insisted we just call the cops, but I… I was stupid and young… I didn’t want to let the man die. So I _begged_ my dad to heal him. I practically forced him into it,” she sobbed. “And you know what thanks he got for it? The man tracked us down and shot my dad. He tried to take me; he wanted to use me to make money as a ‘faith healer’… But my dad managed to kill him before he _bled_ _out_.” She let out a shuttering breath. “And it was all _my fault._ ”

Dean understood all too well the soul eating guilt of feeling responsible for a parent’s death. He gently tried to put a hand on Bridget’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Bridget…”

Bridget only cried harder and pounded her fists against Dean’s chest. “I can’t trust you!” She wailed, but eventually the hits started coming slower and weaker. “…I can’t…” She muttered, more sobs than speaking.

Dean gently pulled the girl to his chest. “Alright…Alright now, kid.” He comforted her, holding her in his arms while she cried and gripped his shirt tightly. “It’ll be okay. We’re ganna keep you safe.” Eventually Bridget leaned into the embrace, wrapping her arms around the man as well, and letting herself feel the fatherly protection and comfort she had missed so much.

After Bridget had calmed down a bit, she let go of Dean, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. She glanced at Dean with uncertainty.

“Bridget I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. My brother and I help people. We just want to keep you safe,” he promised, trying desperately to convince the fragile young girl he meant it.

Still hesitant, Bridget nodded. “I guess I don’t really have any other options anyways…” she muttered, sniffling.

Dean clapped his hands together. “I’ll take it.” He nodded for Bridget to follow him back to the car. Bridget trailed after, too exhausted to argue anymore. She didn’t know what this ‘bunker’ would be like, but it had to beat the bloody mess that waited for her back at the cabin.

As they walked, Bridget remembered something. “Dean? Do you think we might be able to grab some of my dad’s books from the cabin before leaving town?” she asked, tentatively.

Dean didn’t look back at the girl, but she could already tell that he was frowning. “I don’t know, kid… It could be dangerous. Probably best to just get the hell out of dodge,” he replied, apologetically.

Bridget sighed. She knew Dean was right, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to abandon the collections her father had carefully obtained over the years, and those he’d inherited from his family too. “Yeah, I under—”

Bridget was cut off when something hard and boney grabbed her roughly, dragging her back by her neck. She looked down when an arm wrapped itself around her torso, screaming when she realized that the person grabbing her was made of nothing but bones.

“DEAN!!” she screamed, thrashing and kicking. Dean turned around quickly, leaping into action and trying to tear the unearthly creature off Bridget, but it had a vice grip on her. “Are you freaking kidding me!?” Dean shouted as he tried to grab at the skeleton. “A freaking zombie!?”

The thing’s fingers were shaved to a point, forming horrific bone-claws. It slashed at Dean, cutting him across the cheek. The man hissed in pain, stumbling back. The skeleton creature took the opportunity to squeeze the sigil on the end of the necklace against the hex bag, causing the two disappearing into the night leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur, and graveyard dirt scattered across the ground.

“Bridget!?” Dean called after them helplessly. He stared at the spot where Bridget had disappeared, stunned. He had no idea where that thing, whatever it was, had come from. Dean cursed himself; Bridget had been right, she wasn’t safe with them.

Sam came running over to Dean, throwing his hands up in question. “What the hell happened man? Where’s Bridget?” he asked, noticing the bleeding scratch on his brother’s cheek. “Did she do that to you?”

Dean shook his head, stalking towards where the Impala was parked, leaving his brother to follow after him, confused. “Someone took her,” he answered, grimly.

“What! Who?” Sam asked, trailing after Dean.

“I don’t know. But we’re ganna find out and we’re ganna go save that girl, Sammy.”

“Dean—” Sam began, but his brother cut him off before he had a chance.

“I don’t care if Rowena is gunning for us, Sam. I promised that girl I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and I’ll be damned if I let whoever that was lay another finger on her.” he stated, determinedly.

Sam swallowed, a worried expression on his face. “Okay, Dean.” He nodded. “We’ll save her.” He held his brother’s serious gaze for a moment before Dean turned away, grabbing a scrap piece of paper and a pen from the cupholder of the Impala. Dean quickly sketched out a design before holding it up for Sam to see.

“Whoever took Bridget was wearing a necklace that had this sigil on it.”

From around the corner of the motel, the demon, who had been watching them since they arrived, sucked in a shocked breath as he recognized what the elder Winchester had drawn. He ducked back behind the wall; eyes wide. “Rowena will want to hear about this immediately.” He whispered, disappearing quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... Rowena makes another play for power...


	8. The Aodh Crest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean scramble to figure out who took Bridget, but Rowena seems to already know...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor (non graphic) torture

Rowena was relaxing in her room, preparing hex bags, when there was a frantic knock on the door. “Who is it?” She called, eyes narrowing.

“It’s me, My Lady.” Called the demon, from the other side of the door.

Rowena rolled her eyes. She vastly preferred keeping her interactions with her errand boy to over the phone only. She found the boy tediously annoying. He followed her every order to the tee, desperate to please her. While that obedience had its bonuses, Rowena found his weakness pathetic. He had been all too easy to manipulate when she first approached him, using her title as Queen-Mother to get him to do things for her that her son would say no to if she asked.

“Come in then,” she allowed, finishing up the bag she was currently working on.

The demon entered, quickly closing the door behind him and glancing around conspiratorially. “I have big news, my Lady,” he began, excitedly. “I was following the Winchesters, waiting for the right moment to attack, when the girl they were with was abducted.”

Rowena raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “And? What do I care what happens to their girl o’ the week?” the witch snapped, patience wearing thin.

“Of course not. But it’s _who_ took her that I thought would interest you. The abductor used a death puppet to grab the girl, and it wore a necklace with a crest on it... _The Aodh Crest_ , my Lady,” he swallowed heavily. “I’m sure of it.”

Rowena’s eyes widened. The Aodh family had been one of the oldest most powerful magical families in all of Europe. They were practically legends. In her youth she had offered herself to be an apprentice, but they hadn’t believed her to be up to snuff. During the witch hunts it was said that their line had all died out; their spells and their power forever lost.

Trying to regain a neutral face, Rowena took a step closer to the demon. “And…have you told anyone else about this?” she asked, delicately.

“No, my Lady. I came straight to you.” he assured her.

Rowena smiled, wickedly. “Good lad.” she patted him on the shoulder, slipping the hex bag she had just finished into his pocket. _“Defigere Et Depurgare.”_ she spoke, causing the demon to convulse and cough up black liquid until he fell to the ground, dead.

Rowena gingerly stepped over the body. She needed to speak with her son.

Sam worked tirelessly at his laptop searching for anything about the sigil while Dean scoured through what few lore books they had in the Imapla. Both brothers were coming up empty handed. “What the hell is this freaking sigil!” Dean finally lost it, slamming the book closed and throwing it to the ground.

Sam rubbed his temples, letting out a sigh of defeat. “I don’t know, Dean… maybe, maybe it’s not a sigil?” he suggested, without thinking. Comprehending what he had said, Sam sat up, alert. “If it’s not a symbol, what other kinds of things do people wear around their neck?” Some quick typing led Sam to a website on local family crests. He turned the screen around to show Dean.

“A Crest.” Dean nodded. “Thank God for you being a nerd, Sammy.” Dean smiled, starting to scroll through the site. It took a few pages but finally he found one that looked just what he had seen on the skeleton. “That one.” he showed Sam, who took over, reading aloud.

“The Summerville Crest. Linked to Isaac Summerville and the founding of the town of St. Helena, Montana. Isaac Summerville was one of the founders of the town. He made his fortune off the gold boom in the 1870s. He paid for the commission of the Cathedral of St. Helena. But he died along with his wife in an accidental gun powder explosion in their house.” Sam finished reading.

“Yeah well, the dude certainly looked pretty dead when he was swiping Bridget.” Dean grumbled.

Sam kept reading, looking into the Cathedral itself. “Wait, check this out Dean. Ever since the Cathedral was first opened people have reported strange occurrences, and ex-priests have even reported having experienced dark energies. One even swore he saw, and I quote, ‘ _demonic instruments and the writings of Satan down in the crypts’_.” Sam closed the laptop.

“So- witchcraft.” Dean surmised. “Great. I hate witches.” he muttered, angrily. “Well, it’s about a five-hour drive to Montana so we better haul ass.” Dean stated, grabbing their stuff and heading out the door.

“Let’s just hope we make it in time.” Sam muttered, following after Dean and checking his bag for extra witch-killing bullets…

Bridget blinked and opened her eyes to completely different surroundings than she had been in moments ago. Her head felt dizzy and she lurched forward, gagging but not throwing up. As she attempted to regain her equilibrium, the same unsettling bone hands pulled her wrists back behind her and tried them tightly with a rough rope that burned as it dragged and scratched against her skin.

“Poor wee thing…” a woman’s voice spoke from the darkness. “Travelling by magic is always difficult the first time.” Mairi emerged from the shadows, her eyes bright and hungry. She was looking at Bridget as if she were served upon a silver platter. “Do you have any idea what a miracle you are, my dear.” she hummed, running a finger down Bridget’s cheek. Her long fingernails dragged against her skin; enough to send shivers down her spine but not cut the girl-- _yet_.

“P-Please don’t.” Bridget stammered, trying weakly to turn away from the woman’s unsettling eyes, but being held in place by the horrific creature that had kidnapped her.

Mairi feigned a look of shock and sympathy. “Oh, dear child, don’t do what? Nothing is going to happen to you so long as you do exactly what I say.” She motioned for the skeleton to place Bridget onto the nearby chair and tie her up. “You will help me, won’t you?” she asked, her words sickly sweet.

Bridget choked back a sob. “ _Please._ I don’t—I couldn’t help you. I’m nobody. I didn’t even go to school- I was homeschooled. I don’t know how I could help you.” she lied, terribly. Bridget knew she was in deep trouble. She could tell from the books and ingredients around them in this… underground lair of some kind… that the terrifying woman in front of her was a witch.

“That’s not quite true is it though, dear?” Mairi produced a thin dagger from her sleeve, playing with it in her hands. “See, I’m actually quite a lot older than I look. Others may have died or forgotten, but I remember my education well- I was always a dedicated pupil after all…” she paused, pressing the tip of the dagger, with delicate pressure, just under Bridget’s eye. “I can recognize a Caladrius when I see one.”

Bridget’s eyes widened and she let out a terrified sob. “ _Please don’t_.” She whimpered, wishing desperately that Sam or Dean would burst in here and rescue her. She could barely breathe her heart was pounding so quickly.

Mairi sighed, pulling the blade away from Bridget’s face. “You’re a weak, scared little thing…” the Witch mocked. “But I suppose that’s to be expected from an inferior creature such as yourself. That’s why your kind went extinct you know- sobbing and fighting to get out of your gilded cages, but what did freedom ever get you? Killed. There’s a reason you don’t let pet birdies fly free…” With expert speed, Mairi delicately sliced a thin line across the Bridget’s cheek. “The cat will get them.”

“Ah!” Bridget yelped, squeezing her eye shut from the stinging. She could feel drops of warm blood fall down her cheek like tears. “If…if you’re sick, I’ll heal you, I _swear_ \- just please let me go!” she tried to barter.

“Oh, you’re healing someone alright.” Mairi grinned, eyes narrowing. “But it won’t be me.” She slinked over to another dim corner of the clammy room, pulling a dusty, dark cover off something, revealing it to be an imposing stone casket. With the careful movement of her hand, the heavy stone lid slid off, falling to the ground at Mairi’s feet with an echoing boom, and sending a plume of dust up into the air. “You’re going to heal _him_.”

Mairi made her way back over to Bridget, leaning in close to her and dragging the blade across her collarbone slowly, pulling an elongated scream from the girl’s throat. “Or else…I’m going to kill you more slowly and painfully than you could ever imagine.”

Bridget breathed heavily, trying to work through the stinging pain on her chest which worsened with every movement. She lifted her tear stained eyes to look at the man inside the casket. His body was perfectly preserved, but covered in heavy burns and cuts. He looked almost as mortifying as the skeleton creature. From the moment the seal had been released, a surge of powerful, dark energy emanated into the room. Bridget had no idea who this man was, but her gut was telling her that bringing him back was a very bad idea…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... Crowley picks a side...


	9. Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is put in the difficult position of choosing between helping Rowena or the Winchesters, meanwhile Sam and Dean have a difficult conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- This chapter has one of my favourite Sam/Dean interactions of the entire fic. Please enjoy.  
> Warnings: Angst.
> 
> p.s- i've switched from every other day to just posting a chapter every day because all the chapters are finished so why not.

Rowena entered the throne room with determination, the doors slamming back against the walls as they were forced out of her way with the flick of her hand. All heads turned, looking at the source of the commotion. Rowena ignored them, looking only at her son who sat on his throne, an underling in the middle of speaking to him.

“I need to speak to my son _alone._ ” She announced. When no one moved, the irritated witch cast her hands out, “ _ABITE,”_ she exclaimed, knocking the demons to the ground and sending various items crashing into the wall. “ _NOW_ ,” the witch added, “Or was I not clear?”

Crowley blinked, unaffected. With an exasperated sigh he waved the demons away. “Get out.” he muttered, seizing his mother with a glare. Once everyone but the two were gone, Crowley adjusted his suit, crossing one leg over the other as he regarded the woman disdainfully. “Mother, just who I wanted to speak with.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise, “My, that’s a phrase I’d have never foreseen myself saying.” he sniped. “What’s this I hear about you using _my_ demons to hunt down the Winchesters?” he asked, accusatorily.

Rowena scoffed, brushing her long red hair back over her shoulders. “Honestly, can you blame me. They’re bothersome hunters who want nothing more than to see both your and my head on pikes. That you let them live at all is a disgrace.” she chastised.

Stepping forward, Rowena gripped her hands against her son’s arm tightly. “What I need to talk to you about is more important than those gnats’ lives. I don’t know how, but your little friends have gotten entangled with something much larger than their paygrade, my dear boy.” She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself. “They found the sole surviving witch of the Aodh family.”

Rowena waited expectantly for her son’s reaction, but he merely raised his eyebrows, disinterested. Rowena gasped, pulling her hands away. “Really, Fergus! I’d’ve thought you would ‘ave paid attention to your wiccan history given your mother was such a talented witch herself! Do you know nothing of the Aodh family power!?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, bored. “What about this Aodh family?” he asked, already regretting it. While magic could be useful occasionally, Crowley had always found his mother’s obsession with the area more than a little tedious.

“They were the most powerful magical family in all of Europe! But during the fall of witchcraft in Scotland only one survived! I heard he and his smug little pupil fled to America. No one knew what became of them, or the wealth of power Master Aodh possessed.” Rowena’s eyes glazed over as she imagined all she could do with that knowledge. “But if your Winchester pals kill the man all that power will be lost! You must track down the Winchesters before they find him and help me slaughter him myself. With that power I--- I mean, _we,_ will be unstoppable!”

Crowley tutted, eyes narrowing. “Must I?” he questioned, earning an exasperated look from Rowena in turn.

“ _Yes._ ” she answered, vehemently. “The Winchesters cannae be allowed to destroy him! With that kind of magic the Grand Coven would be forced to its knees.” she explained, excitedly. “I’ve a hex bag, old as _old_ itself- it should be able to bind and trap Aodh, and then I can rip his heart out and take all that power for myself.” She fell to her knees at the foot of Crowley’s throne, clutching her son’s arm again. “But I need you help, son. _We_ need to do this.” she begged. She would have gone herself, but she was being kept here like a prisoner, not allowed to leave Hell without permission and supervision.

Crowley pursed his lips in thought. “I will… _consider_ it.” he replied, detached.

Frustrated, Rowena pulled away. “Fine then! But if the Winchesters _don’t_ destroy ancient knowledge that could bring about a second great era of Witchcraft, they will _certainly_ get torn limb from limb and used for scraps. I hope they do, too! They’re poison to you!” she hissed, storming back to her chambers. Her son had never truly appreciated the artistry that was magic. He was weak and stupid, and Rowena could feel in her bones that those Winchesters would be the end of her foolish son one of these days…

Alone, Crowley flipped a pen around, lost in thought. If this Aodh person was so very great and powerful, they couldn’t go unchecked. Furthermore, if he was strong enough to take down the Winchester brothers, they all knew how the Mark would bring Dean back… Black eyes and uncontrollable violence. With a sigh, Crowley stood up; he knew what needed to be done.

In the Impala, Dean drove with his foot glued to the floor. Sam swallowed heavily, seat belt buckled tight in the passenger’s seat as he watched Dean drive, ever increasing concern etching its way onto his face.

“Dean, there’s nothing we can do to get there any sooner- so maybe ease up a little on the gas.” Sam suggested, tentatively. He regretted it almost as soon as he had said it, because Dean turned to glare at him, eyes dark and drowning in the emptiness Sam had come to recognize as the Mark’s influence.

“Every minute we spend on the road is Bridget one minute closer to being hurt- or _worse_.” he snapped back. “I refuse to let anything happen to her, Sam.” Dean growled, increasing the speed even further, if possible.

“Yeah Dean, I get that. You think I don’t want to save her too?” Sam argued. “I just think you’re getting yourself all worked up and we’ve still got like two hours to go.” the man explained. “Maybe you should calm down a bit…the Mark is probably feeding off all this fear and adrenaline.”

Without warning Dean hit the steering wheel hard, causing the car to swerve for a moment before correcting itself. Sam smacked against the door before his seatbelt wretched him back into his seat. “DEAN!” the man exclaimed.

“I am sick of losing people, Sam.” Dean spoke up, voice tense. “I won’t do it anymore. We’ve seen too many people die already.” The man paused, risking a quick, sorrowful, glance at his brother. “And I… I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to go on saving people with this thing on my arm making me…” he trailed off, fighting from saying the word ‘monster’, “…not myself. So as long as I’m still me, all I want to do with the rest of my time is save as many people from those sons of bitches out there as I can.”

Sam stared at his brother in mortified shock. “So what? You’re just- looking to score one more win before throwing in the towel?” he accused. “Dean you’re not going to hell, or terminal, or whatever you feel like – the Mark is not an expiration date. You can fight it, we can find a way- but not if you’ve given up!” Sam resisted the urge to hit something himself. What more could he do to prove to his brother that the world was a better place with him in it? No matter how much they got through, how many times Sam pulled Dean back from that ledge, he always found another sword to fall on. It killed Sam to see his brother like this.

“Sammy I’m sorry, but—” Dean tried, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“No! You know what? I don’t want to hear it! I’m sick of hearing ‘ _I’m sorry, Sam._ ’ Or ‘ _I have to do this, Sammy_ ’. ‘ _It’s for the best’_.” Sam turned away, unable to even look at this brother right now. “How about for once you tell me you’ll at least try not to leave me alone- because I sure as hell don’t want to do this job without you, Dean.” Sam finished, throat burning.

There was tense silence in the Impala until a voice spoke up from the back. “Well, this is awkward.” a familiar British voice commented. “Lovers spat?”

Dean nearly swerved, jumping at the sudden presence of Crowley in the back seat. “What the hell do you want?” Dean growled, one hand going to his gun. Sam also glared, demon blade half out his jacket pocket already.

“Hello to you too, Squirrel.” he glanced at Sam, rolling his eyes. “Down, Moose. I’m here to help.”

“You? Help us?” Sam scoffed. “You’ve done enough. Last time you ‘helped’ it was convincing Dean to take on the Mark of Cain.” the man retorted, angrily.

Crowley ignored Sam, looking at Dean through the rear mirror. “I hear through the grapevine that you boys are about to tussle with a witch by the name of Aodh.” he watched the brothers exchange a silent look before continuing. “Well, the existence of this witch could prove to be a pain in my perfectly sculpted rear, so I’ve come to give you boys an early Christmas present.” He pulled out the hex bag Rowena had spoken of, which he had taken from her, tossing it into Sam’s lap. “Any kind of binding chant should activate the thing. It’ll keep him powerless and in place long enough for you to get the job done. Or at least it should do _if_ you’re at all competent.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, watching Crowley through the mirror. “This don’t make us even.” he warned.

The demon rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, enemies for life- you’ll kill me the moment I’m not useful, I’ve heard it all before. Good luck, boys.” he added, before disappearing with a snap of his fingers.

Sam swallowed heavily, looking from the hex bag in this lap to Dean. “Do you think it’ll really work?” he asked, inspecting the thing.

Dean leaned on the gas, eyes hardened with newfound determination. “I guess we’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter... Mairi's evil plans begin to unfold...


	10. Aodh Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairi drags what she wants out of Bridget, by any means necessary...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE. NOT ESPECIALLY GRAPHIC, BUT SOME MORE SENSITIVE READERS MIGHT FIND IT DISTURBING. READ WITH CAUTION.

Bridget had passed out somewhere between when the witch had decided to take the blade to the bottom of her feet, and pulling out her fingernails out one by one. She was bruised, bloody, and her body ached all over. The bottom of her blonde hair was stained pink from blood. Exhausted, Bridget lifted her head to look at Mairi, who was sitting in front of the tomb.

“You’re awake. Good- it got so quiet in here without all your sobbing.” The woman taunted. There was a deep purple glow about her, which in turn encompassed the man inside the coffin- whom Mairi had called Master Aodh.

For hours now, Mairi had inflicted every possible torment upon Bridget, but without making a single demand. Bridget had expected her to scream and command her to heal the man, but she said nothing, she requested nothing. All she did was smile and continue in on her abuse.

“Why are you doing this?” Bridget asked, but her throat was hoarse and dry, fracturing her words. Her breathing hitched, and Bridget let out a wheeze of pain. When Mairi had gotten bored, she had instructed the skeleton to break a few of Bridget’s ribs.

“Because I’m not naive enough to think I can convince you to do this just by asking politely.” Mairi answered, keeping her eyes focused on her master. “We both know that the only way for you to heal yourself is when you’re healing someone else.” the witch explained. “So I’m going to give you no choice but to feel so much pain, you do what I want just to get it to stop.”

Tears fell from Bridget’s eyes, momentarily surprising the girl. She was so dehydrated from crying and sweating, she didn’t think she could possibly cry anymore. With this new knowledge, Bridget considered her options. She could die horribly, painfully, drawn out for god knows how many days by this sadistic woman. Or, she could heal the woman’s master…

Desperation flowed off Bridget in waves, and Mairi could sense it. She smiled wickedly. “That’s it darling. The sooner you give up hope, the easier this will be.” The woman snapped her fingers, causing one of Bridget’s fingers to shoot upwards and break with a sickening crack sound. “But not too soon, dear. This is complicated magic- it takes a while to undo.”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Bridget tried what her father had always taught her to do first- she tried talking with the woman. “I get how you feel, okay? You’re…you’re scared that your master is going to die. I lost my dad, I know what losing a father figure is like. But you don’t have to go to this extent. You don’t have to hurt people.” she struggled to speak, but pushed herself anyways, running out of breath quickly.

Bridget had heard the word ‘cackled’ used before, but she had never quite understood the off-putting experience of hearing a true ‘cackle’ until Mairi opened her mouth and began to laugh. “Oh, you ignorant child.” She shook her head, still smiling to herself. “You think I want to save this fool? I despise him more than anything else on this earthly plane.”

Mairi stood, allowing the spell to continue for a time without her meditation. The woman stalked over to Bridget, running her hand gently through the girl’s sticky hair before tugging it roughly, causing Bridget to tilt her head backwards and meet Mairi’s hateful gaze.

“I’ll tell you a story shall I? About a young girl, much like yourself, who had all the promise in the world...” Mairi began. “But her teacher was weak. He feared the witch hunts, and he feared the hunters, so he forced them to hide in an awful little town full of filthy humans.” If possible, Mairi’s eyes darkened even further with disgust. “And to make it worse, that teacher fell in love with one of those filthy humans- he even married her. She was a catholic of all things, so he built a church to please her. This _disgusting_ place, that burns a witch’s very soul to enter. But what did he care that he had built a holy house for those who had run the pagan gods out of their temples!?” Mairi let go of Bridget’s hair, her head snapping forward painfully, and the woman began to pace.

“But the student let all that go, because she believed that one day her master would remember that they were powerful- they didn’t need cower in the shadows, playing mortal. But he never did. He told the student that he was giving up magic to grow old with this woman and raise a family. He was going to send her away AFTER ALL SHE HAD DONE FOR HIM.” Glass bottles shattered as she shouted. After a moment, Mairi composed herself again, running the back of her hand against Bridget’s soft, youthful face…the kind of face she once had…

“So the student filled their house with gunpowder and set it off when the wife was alone.” Mairi spoke, sweetly. “Only the fool ran in to save her right as the second explosion went off. The human woman died, but I saved my master. And I have stayed in this place for decades keeping him alive inside that suspension spell, waiting for the day that I found something I could heal him with so I can rip his still beating heart from his chest and consume all that power for myself- as I am rightfully owed. Afterall, he was supposed to teach it all to me before he became a coward and a liar… I had been searching for the Book of the Damned,” she squeezed Bridget’s jaw, painfully, “but a little white dove will do.”

Bridget whined and struggled, trying to get Mairi to let go of her face. She was squeezing it so hard Bridget thought she might break her jaw. Suddenly, Mairi’s eyes lit up and she turned back to Master Aodh, quickly moving to the side of the casket and peering in. “The unbinding is almost complete.” she whispered, fervently. “Bring her to me.” Mairi snapped.

The skeleton immediately stood, undoing Bridget’s restraints and dragging her closer to the two witches. Despite being free of any ropes, Bridget was too exhausted and in too much pain to even attempt an escape. A flash of silver caught Bridget’s eye and she watched helplessly as Mairi produced her blade again, holding it out in front of the girl. “P-Please don’t…” Bridget begged.

Mairi smiled, plunging the blade into Bridget’s stomach. With a gut wrenching twist, she removed the blade before roughly throwing Bridget against the casket. “Heal him when he wakes up- or I’ll make sure your own death outlasts his life.” she hissed.

Bridget leaned heavily against the stone, clutching one hand to her wound to try and stop the bleeding. _I should probably lay on my back, so I don’t bleed out as quickly_ , the girl thought, in passing. Unaware to Bridget, who could hear nothing but a pounding in her ears, Mairi finished the final incantation, and the suspended state in which Master Aodh was being held ceased.

The man stirred slightly, letting out a sickening whine as his wounds no doubt burned. He coughed, causing blood to sputter up from his lips.

Mairi pressed her thumb into Bridget’s wound, causing the girl to scream in pain. “Do it _now._ ” She snapped, placing one of Bridget’s hands onto her master. “NOW! You little---” She was interrupted when the heavy wooden door across the tomb was thrown open- Sam and Dean bursting through gun’s raised.

“ _Manete!”_ Mairi shouted, keeping the brother’s where they stood. “Deal with them.” she ordered the skeleton, who immediately engaged with the two, trying to disarm them before they fired.

“Bridget!!” Dean called, horrified by the state she was in. Anger boiled inside of him, and he felt a hot white rage that wanted to do nothing else but _kill._ He knew it was the Mark’s influence affecting him, but right now he didn’t care. Giving in to that feeling felt _good._

Bridget managed to turn her head to meet Dean’s eyes, but her gaze was full of sorrow and shame. “I’m sorry…It hurts too much….” Bridget whimpered, closing her eyes and allowing that warm white glow to spread through her. The injuries on the man transferred to Bridget before disappearing along with the shimmering glow that had painted her body. The young girl fell to the floor, physically and emotionally exhausted, while Master Aodh rose from the casket, rejuvenated…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter...THE FINALE.


	11. You Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Bridget must all fight to stop Mairi from rising to power and destroying them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Minor violence, death.
> 
> A/N- Well, that's all folks. I really enjoyed writing this. I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it as well. I think Dean with the mark of cain is a super interesting/complex Dean to write. I'd love to do more in the future. But for now, I'm 4 chapters into writing a new fic where Sam getting turned into a baby accidentally forces Dean to confront some of his childhood traumas.

For a moment, all noise and movement in darkened room stopped as they all watched Master Aodh rise, in awe of the presence he commanded. “Master…” Mairi whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. The man stepped out from the casket, stepping past Bridget on the ground, who let out a quiet whimper, as he moved towards his apprentice.

The whimper shook Dean from his stupor, and he raised his gun to fire at both the witches. Without looking or speaking, Master Aodh flicked both guns out of the men’s hands, leaving them defenseless.

With her master finally returned, and glowering down at her so powerfully, Mairi felt a chill roll down her spine. This man before her was the master she remembered, before he had gone soft for that human. His terrifying glory washed over Mairi, and she couldn’t help but fall to her knees, rethinking her plan. Perhaps, after all these years, her original plot to bring back the hardened man she knew, by killing the woman he loved, had actually worked.

“Master I have waited—” Mairi began, but was silenced by her master holding up a hand.

“Where is Eleanor?” the man asked.

Mairi’s heart sunk. Her eyes darkened with contempt. “Still after all these decades- you pick a human over your own apprentice.” The woman hissed venomously. “I was right- you are weak…. But I won’t be.”

With unabashed speed and strength, Mairi cast her dagger into her master’s chest, carving out his heart. She ripped it, still beating, from his chest. “ _Et perdat confirma,_ ” Mairi exclaimed, the bleeding organ becoming pale and almost transparent. She shoved the heart inside her chest with a shuttering gasp, eyes glowing. The whole room began to shake, stones crumbling, and a crack formed from where Mairi stood going all the way up the Cathedral to the spire, splitting the heavy metal bell in two like an invisible bolt of lightning.

Aodh’s body fell to the floor, and with it, his magic released Sam and Dean. “You get the skeleton, I’ll get the Witch!” Dean ordered, grabbing the hex bag from his pocket. He prepared to throw it, but Mairi threw out her hand, the veins in her wrist glowing and writhing, holding Dean in place. “You _hunters,”_ she spat, “really presume to take me on? Pathetic.” She slowly began to squeeze her hand shut, and from across the room, Dean felt his throat begin to close. The man hacked, and pulled at the non-existent hands on his throat, but it was hopeless.

Sam, meanwhile, struggled against the skeleton creature, which was disproportionately strong for being made of nothing but bone and string. The man let out a muffled scream as the skeleton’s sharpened claw-fingers ripped across his back. As Sam fell to his knees in pain, the Skeleton picked up a large rock, preparing to smash it into the man’s skull.

Dean, whose face was now turning a shade of purple, watched in horror, hacking and coughing as he desperately tried to warn his brother of the impending blow. Bridget managed to drag herself to her feet, comprehending the dire scene before her, and once again her father’s words, rang through her head. _You Fight._

Bridget lunged forward, tackling Mairi to the ground and breaking her concentration. Gasping for breath, but still focused, Dean grabbed the skeleton from behind throwing it to the ground. He held the pelvis down with his boot, tearing the rib cage up to break the thing in half- although that did not stop it from continuing to move.

Sam scrambled to his feet, smashing the thing’s skull beneath his shoe, and breaking it into fragments. An ancient looking gold coin rolled out from the skull, spinning on the dirt for a moment before falling still, at which time the skeleton’s two halves stopped twitching and moving.

With a furious roar, the witch threw Bridget off her, sending her careening into the stone casket, and then falling to the ground like a rag doll. Bridget recognized the feeling of a broken rib from not minutes before, writhing on the floor in pain.

“Bridget!” Dean called, concerned. “Oh that’s it you bitch. Time for you to die.” Dean muttered, storming towards the woman with the demon blade. It wouldn’t kill her, but it would sure hurt like hell. And it was all Dean had at the moment, given his gun had been thrown across the room. The mark surged as he sliced at the witch’s throat, but Mairi ducked out the way- the blade catching her arm instead.

Mairi seethed, sending Dean flying backwards into Sam, both brothers tumbling to the ground. The hex bag fell from Dean’s pocket, rolling across the floor away from them. “I am more powerful than he ever was!” Mairi waved her hands, causing corresponding slices to form across the men’s torsos. “I’ll kill you two,” she made another deep slice, “and then I’ll hunt down and destroy the rest of your kind just like you did to us.”

Dean sat up, hissing in pain as he held his stomach. “That’s a nice…ah…plan and all,” he struggled “but it’s ganna be pretty hard to do when you’re dead.” He smirked.

Mairi’s smile fell. She turned around to see Bridget throwing something towards her, which she caught out of instinct. Immediately Sam called out the binding incantation. Mairi’s screams echoed against the walls as she struggled against her invisible restraints. “This won’t hold me forever!” she roared.

“It won’t have to.” Sam added, glancing back at Bridget, who had picked up Dean’s gun and was aiming it at Mairi’s head. The woman’s eyes widened, as she tensed for the shot, but it didn’t come…

Bridget’s hand shook as she struggled to take in a deep enough breath to calm down because of her injured ribs. Mairi grinned, eyes narrowing. “You won’t do it. You’re too weak, just like I’ve been saying this whole time.” the woman mocked. “Poor, pathetic little birdie won’t even fight back when the cat comes to eat it. You disgust me. Useless, worthless, little—”

Bridget fired.

Mairi’s body fell to the ground, lifeless. Bridget watched, tears pooling and falling down her face. Slowly, she dropped the gun, falling to her knees. “I…I killed someone.” she mumbled, quietly.

Dean and Sam struggled to their feet, both nursing their wounds. Dean took Bridget’s hands, gently lifting her back to her feet. “No, you saved us.” he assured her. Bridget stared at Dean blankly for a moment before slowly nodding. “Come on, let’s get out of here before this whole place collapses.” he added. Bridget held her injured ribs, allowing the man to help her walk as they exited the crypts and the church, where the Impala’s soft seats awaited.

Crowley was pouring himself a glass of whisky when Rowena burst into the room, face almost as red as her hair from anger. “ _FERGUS_.” she bellowed. “That very important, very powerful hex bag I was speaking of has gone _MISSING._ ” She crossed her arms, tightly. “You must search all your thieving little underlings until the culprit is caught and tortured mercilessly!!” she demanded.

Crowley took a slow sip from his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh afterward. “None of them stole your hex bag mother. I took it.” he explained, sauntering over to his throne and taking a seat. “The job is done.”

Rowena’s eyes widened. “You…You did it then? You captured him?” she asked, excitedly. “Well done my boy! I knew I could rely on you!” She took her son’s hand, staring at him expectantly. “Where is he then? Best I perform the consuming spell immediately before the hex wares off.”

Crowley slowly pried his hand free from the woman’s grip. “Perhaps I should clarify, Mother. I gave the _Winchesters_ your hex bag and _they_ dealt with the problem.” he explained.

Rowena stumbled back in shock. “You… _what_?” she breathed.

“Yes well, it’s been nice chatting, Mother-dearest, thanks for the hex bag, but I’m very busy at the moment so—”

“ _You,_ ” Rowena hissed, hands twitching in anger, “are a _fool_. A spineless, impotent excuse for a ‘King’ who is obsessed with a group of hunters who _will never_ accept you.” she reproached him. “You are _nothing_ to them. And while you run around trying to impress those poisonous boys your kingdom falls apart, because they see it too, Fergus. They see how _weak_ and _pathetic_ their so-called King is. They will stab you in the back, and the Winchester’s will watch you die and _laugh_.”

Clearing his throat, Crowley downed the rest of his whiskey, slamming the glass down perhaps a little too hard afterwards. “Well, nice to know how you really feel, Mother.” He fronted. “But the Winchesters are _my_ business, and I’ll deal with them however I like. And if _you_ ever interfere with them, or any of my affairs ever again, I’ll throw you to the hellhounds like the _bitch_ that you are.”

Rowena stormed out without another word, leaving Crowley to stare at the walls of his empty throne room, alone.

“How you doing back there?” Sam asked, turning in his seat to check on Bridget, who was in the back, still clutching her ribs.

“I’ll live.” the girl muttered, staring off into the distance. Sam and Dean exchanged yet another concerned look. Bridget had been troublingly quiet ever since they left the Cathedral, hours ago.

“Listen kid, you know Garth- he’s a good guy. And he’s got this awesome wife who makes the best sandwiches I’ve ever had. They’ll take good care of you, I promise.” Dean assured her. After things had settled down, Dean and Sam had been left to discuss what they were going to do. Sam had suggested they bring Bridget to Jody’s place, that way she’d at least have another kid her age around to confide in. But Dean sensed Bridget wouldn’t take to trusting anyone new for a long time. It was then they remembered the concern Garth already had for the girl, and since he and Beth were already planning on having kids, Dean made the call. Garth and Beth were only too happy to take Bridget in.

“So… Garth is a Werewolf now?” Bridget asked, tentatively.

“Yeah but like, a _good_ Werewolf. Sorta like Werewolf-Vegetarians if you will…except they eat animals.” Dean explained. “But they know how to stay off the radar from humans and hunters. They’ll keep you safe.”

Bridget only nodded silently in response.

After a few more hours, they arrived at their destination. A small but homely house, with a bit of greenery surrounding it. There were beautiful flowers in full bloom all around, and a porch with a swinging bench on it.

All three exited the car, Bridget still barely even looking up from her shoes. Dean gave Sam a knowing look, to which Sam nodded, clearing his throat. “So uh, I’ll go say hi and make sure they’re all ready for you.” the man excused himself, leaving Dean and Bridget by the car.

“Kid… You okay?” Dean asked, sincerely.

Bridget swallowed heavily, tears building up in her eyes for the umpteenth time in the past hours. “I don’t know…Everything feels different now.” she tried to explain. “I thought I wanted to help people, to heal them… But then actually using my powers, doing real healing…it only led to more pain and hurt. And even worse, my existence is healing but I—” The words caught in her throat.

Dean put a hand on each of Bridget’s shoulders. “Hey, you did what you had to do back there. And yes, it’s ganna hurt for a while. That weight is not ganna just disappear over night. But it won’t last forever.” He waited for Bridget to meet his eyes. “And you _do not_ exist to heal and do nothing else. You’re a person. Moving away…it might be a good thing for you, Bridget. Give you a chance to try out other things, figure out who you are outside of helping others.”

Bridget nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess.” She glanced over at the house, where Garth and Beth were both waving excitedly at her from the doorway. “And I guess it doesn’t seem so bad here…” she conceded.

Dean smiled, giving the girl a playful punch. When he did, his sleeved pulled up slightly, and Bridget noticed the Mark. Dean followed Bridget’s gaze, rolling his sleeve down quickly. “It’s nothing, just—”

“—The Mark of Cain.” Bridget finished. “I’ve read about it. It’s a disease.”

Dean stared at the ground for a moment before looking up at Bridget, his eyes full of fear and tentative hope. “Do you think…I mean…”

Bridget frowned, holding Dean’s arm and placing her hand over the Mark. “I’m sorry…but it’s not that kind of disease.” she said, apologetically. If there were anything Bridget could have done for Dean, she would have…but this mark was biblical, ancient, and far beyond her abilities.

Dean nodded his head, trying to mask his disappointment. “That’s alright.” He gave Bridget his signature ‘Dean Winchester’ smile. “I’ll be alright. Always am.” he repeated, like so many times before. He wondered if maybe one of these times, he’d actually believe the words he was speaking.

Bridget tried to smile back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Listen Dean…You know how you and your brother always seem to come back from the dead?” she asked.

“Uh…yeah. It’s kind of a hard thing to forget.” Dean answered, confused.

“That’s because the _soul_ can’t be destroyed. That’s why you don’t just die- there’s heaven, hell, purgatory, and everything in between.” Bridget lifted Dean’s sleeve to reveal the Mark once more. “This thing is a disease, and it might change the way you feel and the things you do. But at your core it _cannot_ change your soul. Those are impenetrable. So whenever this thing,” she pointed to the Mark, “makes you think you’re alone, or you’re a monster…when it tells you to do horrible things…just remember, _you_ are not your sickness. It can’t ever change who you really are. It doesn’t have the power.”

Dean was at a loss for words. He stared at Bridget silently, eyes burning. Finally he found the strength to nod. “Thanks, kid.” he muttered, voice raw. Bridget smiled, giving Dean one last hug before heading to the house.

“See you later, Sam.” she nodded to the man as they passed each other.

“Stay out of trouble, Bridget.” he nodded back, with a sad smile.

Sam made his way over to Dean, watching Bridget greet Garth and Beth with a smile on her face. He let out a sigh, that same weight in his chest that he felt every time that they walked away from a friend. “Do you think she’ll be alright?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “She’ll be alright.”

The somber tones of Steppenwolf’s ‘ _It’s Never Too Late’_ played over the radio as Sam and Dean drove through the darkness, on their way back to the bunker; back home. “I’m not giving up.” Dean announced suddenly.

Sam looked at his brother, brows raised in question.

“The Mark. I just want you to know—I’m not ganna give up. I’m ganna fight.”

Sam nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “That’s good to hear, Dean.”

Both brothers turned their eyes toward the horizon as the roar of the Impala’s engine disappeared into the distance…

_It's never to late to start all over again…_ _  
  
  
_

**THE END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and please check out my other fics <3  
> Take it easy, -E

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)  
> Comments/Kudos make my day <3


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